In the Face of Death
by BookwormKiwi
Summary: I took that scene from Euphoria, pt 1, when Cameron comes out of Joe's apartment, fleshed it out, and created a different ending. For a lj challenge. Nobody dies, promise. HouseCam


A/N: I'm not normally a House/Cam writer, but I thought I should do one, just to broaden my...profile. And by chance, I stumbled on a House/Cam challenge community on lj, candycanedreams. Very empty, though, House/Cam-ers should go check it out.

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"Why doesn't anyone listen to me any more?"

Cameron heard his voice only a second before she saw him. Relaxed and ready, he'd been waiting for her. Her minded fleeted on how he knew she was here, but he'd have his sources. She wasn't about to ask, either, knowing his response would be something scathing and psychoanalytical.

"I decided you were wrong."

She liked the way that sounded. Decisive and firm, like she actually meant it. She imagined her eyes might be confident, though she was scared they'd betray her.

"God, you're weak."

So he could tell. Or he was just screwing with her, like he always did. Making out that he was stronger than her, was better. Perhaps he was. Smart and sure, maybe his way of living was better than hers.

She averted her gaze exasperatedly and walked towards him lopsidedly, the garbage bag of mouldy food weighing her down.

"The guy steals your article, tells you you're not his friend."

House paused, a habit he'd formed. Calm and controlled, it made everything he said just that bit more dramatic.

"You still wanna risk your life for him."

Cameron pulled the suit off her head. Her hair was tickling her neck, but she didn't touch it. She sighed loudly, to signal her irritation, but also to breathe in some fresh air.

"Foreman broke my skin with a tainted needle."

Unblinking and cool, she hoped House could figure out what this stare meant. Her health was at stake yet again. And this time, she wasn't running away.

"Wow."

"Yeah."

He got it. Blank and steady, his eyes gave nothing away. Her mouth was just a crease on her face, her lips pulled in tightly. What was he doing here? Why did she have to explain herself to him?

He was going to say something unlike House. She could see his expression, a split second before he spoke. Sympathetic and sorry, his eyes were lowered.

"God, you're weak."

She rolled her eyes and sighed a second time. She should have known. At her funeral, he'll stand up at the podium, and look serious for all of three seconds. The crowd would wait expectantly, getting ready to reach for Kleenexes. And he'll compose himself, and say, "She was in love with me. As flattered as I was, I had to take out a sexual harassment suit, which I now, of course, regret." And the audience would be shocked at his harshness.

Who was she kidding? Did she honestly think House would turn up at her funeral? Even 'a girl's allowed to dream' doesn't cut it.

"Guy tried to kill you. First thing on my list of things to do would be to stab him back."

His eyes were wide, his expression serious. Feigning serious, anyway. Mocking and scornful, his tone was trying to play with her emotions. Now that he mentioned it, the thought had crossed her mind. But what good would that do, stabbing Foreman with his _own_ needle?

"Shoot him. Got a gun in my desk."

What she wouldn't give to shoot House. Maybe on his right thigh, so he can experience real pain. And once that was healed, he'd be thankful that he only has to put up with so much. He's got a lot less to endure than his fellows.

"Last thing on my list would be to lie to my boss and give the bastard everything he wanted."

And that was just one thing that was different about him and her. Although he lies to his boss in any possible situation, it's hardly ever for a good cause. He was looking at her like she was a child. A tiny child that had no idea about action and reaction.

"I'm not here for Foreman, I'm here to save myself."

He made a noise. Why did he look so disbelieving? It was a reasonable excuse. What's more, it was true. Her life was on the line. Who wouldn't take the chance to go back and look for a cure?

"Even with a needle stick your chances of infection are pretty slim. That's why you're wearing the suit."

She had known that, but it was a relief to hear House say it. It was as good as a guarantee that she wasn't about to fall into a pit of endless pain.

"You wanted to be here. He just gave you the excuse."

She raised an eyebrow. He thought he knew everything. He thought he knew her. She didn't want to be here. She wanted to be anywhere _but_ here. But even she couldn't deny that with every piece of rotten fruit she picked up, she felt a chance of a diagnosis that would save Foreman. And herself.

"What does that guy have to do to make you hate him?"

She gave him a hard glare. He was implying she was full of love. That she was incapable of hate. But she could hate. She did.

Cameron picked up the bag and tried to leave him. To walk away. She didn't know if he'd follow her or call her back. Keep insulting her. She wasn't expecting him to physically stop her.

His cane was pressing against her midriff. Her stomach was tense and pulled in, a reflex. She stared down at the wood, before reluctantly swinging her cold eyes to House. He took his time standing up. His gaze never left hers, and his face was expressionless.

Unwavering and structured, he stood tall. A figure of strength. She wished she didn't see him like that.

"Give me the bag."

She didn't move. Perhaps her fingers clenched a little tighter, but to House, she didn't move. Still and silent, she was inwardly debating whether to say what she felt.

"He has to be you."

A flicker of surprise tainted his solid stare. For once, he was thrown. He didn't know what he was expected to say.

"He's done everything you've done. He's tried to _kill me_."

Still he looked speechless. She'd turned the table. She was in control.

She didn't believe Foreman really wanted her dead. He just wanted her scared enough to do what he wanted. And she was.

But House. House could do that without exposing her to deadly infections. He had her under his thumb, and she wanted to crawl out.

"But he's not you."

House had shut his mouth. His forehead was creased. She had trouble holding his gaze, but she managed it. She knew he was trying to figure her out. He had to do it quickly, or he'd end up spiralling out of control. It was his need.

"You don't hate me."

She breathed in. She breathed out. She didn't react.

"I don't hate you."

He seemed to be expecting that. Maybe because they both knew it was true. Although she'd been implying it, she could never hate him.

"You love me."

He was still standing close. He lowered his cane for support. He was gazing at her, scarily piercingly.

"I…love you."

She hadn't intended to say it, but she saw no alternative. He wasn't going to step away otherwise.

But even as she said this, he didn't move away. He moved towards her, one slow step at a time, until he was pressed against her. She was quivering, but couldn't find the energy to step back. She had dropped the bag a long time ago.

"I know."


End file.
